Dustland Gentleman
by Beckon
Summary: Her thumb brushed over the thin scar that cut down his left cheek.


On any other night, Nora could blame her lack of sleep on the rolling thunder outside, or the howling of a radstorm coming in.

But, for once, the night was quiet- voiding her of an excuse for her inability to sleep.

...

Even Dogmeat was settled on the floor next to her bed; he quietly snored from time to time as he laid sprawled out across the damaged rug underneath him. He was close enough that she could lazily reach over the side of the mattress and run her fingers through his thick fur- assuring herself that he was still there. Not that she had much to worry for- Sanctuary had been properly fortified and weaponized in the passing weeks. She had trip-wired traps hidden all over the place, so if someone wanted to get in, she'd hear them before they even saw her coming.

Spotlights were triggered to come on, and turrets were at the ready to unload a hailstorm of bullets at a moment's notice.

... Still, the alerting bark of a dog seemed more comforting to have- just in case.

Although the faint snoring below told her that he was less alert than normal.

But hey, at least one of them was sleeping.

Sighing, Nora stared at the damaged wall across from her and tried to convince herself that she needed the sleep- rather desperately too. Her body ached from countless days of traveling, and sleeping on rocks and uneven terrain. Not to mention the constant worry that whoever was on watch for the night would miss something drastic, and they'd all end up dead in their sleep.

...

She thought having a bed and sleeping somewhere relatively safe would cure her of her insomnia.

Unfortunately, that wasn't working out in her favor.

It was either her pacing mind, or her heavy heart that was keeping her from closing her eyes.

...

At the very least, she had the comforting weight of his arm draped over her waist.

Nora briefly looked over her shoulder at Preston, looking to where he had his head tucked against the back of her neck. She could feel the even breaths that left him, feeling how they came out as warm pools against her skin. His body was lightly pressed against her own- just enough for her to know that he was there, but still leave her with some breathing room.

He always liked to keep one arm over her while they slept, as though he was afraid she might get swept away into the night.

...

But she knew he wasn't asleep- no matter how well he pulled it off.

He had a hard time sleeping just like she did.

...

Sometimes they couldn't sleep for the same reasons.

Sometimes they stayed up at night together, both of them a little more than worried about the Minutemen and what their next move should be. They had re-conquered a good portion of the Commonwealth, they had more than enough volunteers, and they had successfully held off Raider and Super Mutant sieges all month. They were becoming the new talk of the town- and they were damn proud of the work they were pulling off.

But there was a lot of stress behind those victories.

A lot of praises mixed with doubts.

Confidence mixed with fear on whether something bad would happen to them again- whether they would fall apart and start over.

Whether history would repeat itself.

She was a woman out of time, and he had seen more than his fair share of hardships... What did they know about leading a community?

...

Other times though, they were up for entirely different reasons.

She knew sometimes he'd sleep to make the pain go away- if only temporarily.

And other times, he couldn't stand to close his eyes.

He would stay up for days at a time it would seem- always hiding his pain and exhaustion behind a smile and a whistled tune. Most people couldn't see the difference between the two, and just assumed he was never anything else but happy. It always hurt to see him like that, but... she knew well enough what it meant to just take it all one day at a time.

As for her... there were nights where she would have these nightmares about the Vault, about what had happened to her. She had nightmares about Nate screaming at her, asking her where Shaun was- asking her how she could lose their only child. And she used to wake up sobbing, and screaming back- screaming that she didn't know, she didn't know, but she was going to get him back.

Now and days though... she just woke up with this feeling of dread filling her chest.

She woke up with second-handed thoughts... What if she never found Shaun? What if this was it?

What if she was stuck in this desolate world alone with a dead husband and a missing child?

...

No.

No, she would go to the ends of what remained of this Earth and find Shaun... dead or alive. End of story.

And she... she wasn't alone here either.

Giving another sigh, Nora glanced out the nearest window and noted that it was pitch-dark outside- so at the very least, the spotlights hadn't been tripped. _Yet_. Still, it was too late to go for a walk in hopes of clearing her head; not to mention, she was too physically exhausted to do so anyways.

And yet, lying in this bed only made it feel like she was out sleeping on rocks once more.

Defeated for the time being, Nora carefully picked herself up and rolled over to face Preston, to watch him. She heard a light groan escape him at the movement, but noted that he did little else in reaction- well asides from re-adjust his arm around her.

She laid there perfectly still, taking in every little detail of him that she could in the dark.

She had memorized him so well in the light though that she didn't need to see much to know what she was looking at.

Fingers reached forward and gently traced his broad jawline, feeling the warmth and smoothness of his skin underneath her tips. She felt the subtle way he turned into her touch- taking it all in while she was giving it away.

Slowly, she eased her palm against his cheek, gently cupping it, as she traced circles on his skin with the tip of her thumb. And she swore she caught the hint of a smile on his lips, as his fingers curled up close against her back. He was only proving her point that he had never been asleep in the first place, but she didn't mind the company- in fact, she invited it.

Her thumb eventually brushed over the thin scar that cut down his left cheek, running over it again and again in slow strokes.

Curious fingers moved to explore the knotted tissue that was both smooth and uneven underneath her touch.

She had been drawn to the scar the moment she saw it, but back then she didn't have the nerve to ask- it simply didn't feel right to. She had still been accustomed to her time, where any curiosities of such scars were... taboo almost; it was impolite to demand a backstory as there was no telling how it would unfold. They had been at war during that time, so a lot of men came home with scars that weren't to be discussed.

Even Nate had had a few that he didn't like to talk with her about.

But Preston...

This thin scar that cut down against his left cheek nearly split the entirety of his face on that side. It wasn't just a simple scar; no, it started from his temple and cut down to his jaw in a jagged, uneven line.

Many soldiers of the Commonwealth carried scars, but he... he carried a hell of a scar with him.

"Where'd you get this?" Nora whispered, as she brushed fingertips against the knotted tissue- tracing it from start to end again and again. She watched as his eyes slowly drew open at the question; they looked heavy- not with sleep though, but... maybe more like deep resting, which was better than nothing at this time of night. The sight of him drew a smile to her lips, something that was becoming a habit when she was around him. "Who hurt you?"

Preston offered a tired chuckle and slowly moved his fingers to touch at the scar as well- briefly tangling his fingers with hers. "This? God, I... I don't know if I remember this one..."

It was a rather impressive, but worrying scar- she almost found it hard to believe that he didn't remember.

But he was the most honest man she knew...

"I bet it was a Deathclaw," she offered, feeling the way their fingers locked together. "And I bet you dealt with it single-handedly- and won."

The outlandish remark was enough to draw a second laugh from him.

"I wish it was that extravagant, but I highly doubt it," he replied, as he continued to follow her fingers in tracing the twisted tissue. "I think uh... it might've been from a Gunner, maybe; or maybe I just took a nasty back swing from a door."

It was Nora's turn to slightly snort before giving into a laugh.

She leaned into him and brushed her lips against his, lingering on the subtle roughness and warmth that came with them. "Oh come on," she urged, "you can be a little more creative than that."

"I thought you would've wanted honesty, not creativity," Preston replied.

"Either or."

He smiled and kissed her in return. "In that case, then where did this one come from?" he asked, as his fingers moved from hers and lightly touched at the scar between her eyes.

It was a burn scar, which pulled the healed skin into vein-like knots that covered the bridge of her nose and angled up towards her forehead. Most of the time, she forgot about the thing, and only remembered when she caught herself in a mirror- which was rare for her to do now and days. But she remembered its subtle dark-pink hue, a fair contrast against her skin, and how the edges of the scar were lighter than the center piece.

"I went fisticuffs against a Mr. Handy," Nora answered with a smug smile, "and won- but I didn't get out of the way when it exploded. This was pre-war though, so the explosions were pretty small- in fact, they were usually the results of a defect. I went through three of them before I settled on Codsworth, who barely won by a margin."

Preston moved his hand to her cheek and pulled her to him, laughing as he softly peppered her with kisses. "Tell me that was the creative portion."

She smiled and gave into the gentle kisses. "It was a grease fire," she admitted. "I tried to smother it with a damp towel, but it ended up being more soaked than damp, and the fire flared up. And you know me, I stand a little too close to danger, so my stupid ass got caught in the flare- I almost lost my eyebrows too. It took me and Codsworth two hours to get everything under control and cleaned up again."

"That sounds pretty truthful to me now."

"It's embarrassing to me," Nora laughed, feeling him move to gingerly kiss the withered scar. "I'd much rather tell people I went hands-to-hands with a Mr. Handy."

"I have no doubts about that," he replied, as his fingers moved to brush through her hair, pulling the messy locks away from her face, before he rested his hand against her cheek. "You're a wildcard for sure, General."

For a moment, she found herself just utterly lost in his presence.

She was lost in his voice, and in his eyes.

Lost in the subtlety of how he touched her, how he caressed and almost worshipped her body.

"Well, what's a frozen woman to do," she smiled, before she scooted closer and nestled herself up against him- feeling him move just enough to adjust his arms around her. She took in the warmth of his body against hers, and the way he pulled her in close- holding and anchoring her to him, providing them both with their own private sanctuary. She had yet to stop smiling, but it was impossible not to with the way his chest moved against her with every breath; with the way his fingers slowly trailed up and down her back in slow, careful strokes. "You know, since we both can't sleep, do you maybe want to sing me something?"

"I'm not sure if I can think of anything."

"That's fine. We can just lie here and you can listen to more of my theories about your scar," Nora offered.

"On second thought, I might have something."

* * *

The next morning, Nora woke up to an empty bed- which didn't surprise her.

She had gotten used to Preston getting up before dawn to get an early start on his usual routine, and he was always careful not to wake her when he did. The very few, rare times that she had been woken up, he simply coaxed her back to sleep with a kiss to the forehead and a tug on the covers to keep her warm. And she had to admit that that was usually all he had to do; she had never been a morning person.

Getting up, she slowly redressed into her normal attire and stepped out to greet the day.

The neighborhood was quiet, as it usually was.

Broken and scraped together, but... functional again.

Walking across the street, Nora made her way towards the opposite house that had been set up as their main hub for now, with their different workbenches and radios. She wrinkled her nose at the somewhat interesting aroma that was coming from the heated pot over the cooking fire just at the foot of the open garage.

"Dare I ask?" Nora spoke, as she looked to the dark-haired man who was seated on her workbench.

"Hey, don't knock it until you try it," Sturges offered, as he drank from the somewhat clean coffee cup in hand. "Although, at the very least, I can promise that it's much better than the last batch was."

She chuckled lightly. "That last batch almost gave me cancer, I'm sure of it." despite her remark, she watched as Sturges grabbed a spare, cracked cup next to him and handed it towards her- briefly shaking it to further convince her to take it. And she really didn't want to... but she heard herself give a sigh and relented anyways. "Don't make me regret this, please," Nora replied, before she walked over to the heat pot and carefully filled her cup with the dark coffee. Bringing the cup to her lips, she took in the aroma and decided that if the smell alone didn't make her want to puke, than it was worth a shot.

And while it did smell better than the last batch had, it certainly wasn't by much.

Nora cringed and slightly whined, tossing Sturges a 'please don't let this kill me' kind of look, before she held her breath and forced down the first sip.

...

Thankfully, unlike the previous cup, it wasn't grainy, or filled with half-crushed coffee beans.

And it didn't make her want to throw up immediately afterwards- which was the biggest improvement.

If anything, it was still somewhat bitter, but it did have a smoother take down.

Nora waited for the coffee to settle in her stomach first, making sure it didn't rush to come back up, before she decided to speak. "Alright, you got me," she admitted, as she walked over and eased herself down into one of the chairs nearby. "It's not quite like the coffee before the war, but... it's about as good as it's going to get."

"Look, I ain't no miracle worker, but I can create some half-assed miracles," Sturges replied. "It's a big improvement from the last batch, but even the last one wasn't that bad- not as bad as the first one had been."

"And yet, you still drank from all of them," she reminded, as she took a second sip- and was glad to know it tasted the same as the first one did. "You had three cups from the last batch, there's no way you're human."

"Flesh and blood, baby."

She smiled and chuckled lightly at his enthusiastic response, before she looked around her; she had half-expected Preston to be around close by, or at least inside checking on Mama Murphy, but... he was nowhere to be seen. "Have you seen Preston today?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, you know Preston, he's been all over the place since this morning," Sturges answered. "One of the traders came by about an hour ago maybe, said he was having trouble with one of his Brahmin, so Preston went out to see if he could help. They weren't too far past the Red Rocket, so he ain't too far from home."

Classic Preston.

While it was understandable, she still felt silly being so worried for him when he left the neighborhood. It was safe here in Sanctuary, and it was safe out past the Red Rocket as well, but... still; she worried that anything could happen the moment he stepped out of her sight.

She wasn't a fan of the unknowns.

...

His absence gave her a small opening though.

"Hey, you've got a memory of gold, right?" Nora asked, as she settled the coffee cup between her hands for warmth.

"I wouldn't say gold- but maybe a highly-polished silver," Sturges replied. "Why you ask?"

She leaned back in her chair, hearing it give a quiet squeak in protest. "Well... this is going to sound odd I guess, but I was just wondering if you knew where Preston got that scar on his face," she started. "I asked him about it before, but he says he doesn't remember. I mean, I'm not saying that he doesn't, but... it's a hellva scar- seems like the story around it would certainly stick."

"The one on his cheek?" Sturges asked, briefly gesturing to his, to which she nodded in response. "That old thing? Ha, I'm not surprised he doesn't remember."

Nora cocked her head slightly in curiosity.

She wasn't entirely expecting a potential answer from Sturges- but she had certainly been hoping for one, and was surprised to get her wish.

She waited for the man to continue, only to watch as he sipped at his coffee and quietly laughed to himself.

"Well?" Nora pressed.

"Hm? Oh right, of course you'd want to hear it. It's uh... well, we'll go with a long story short here," Sturges started. "Probably about a year or two ago, I've never been good with keeping track of time, we were in the downtown Boston area; that place is dangerous now, but it was even worse back then. Anyways, we get pinned in by a couple of ole Greenskins in a rundown office building, and we're just trying to fight our way through them to get to the lobby floor and get out. Which, you know those muties, it ain't always an easy task to get away from them. So we're somewhere between the third and second floor, about to just drop straight down into the lobby, when one of the Super Mutants grabs Preston by the jacket. Now, he'll deny that he was ever much good in a gunfight, but I'll be damned if the only reason we got that far was because he was taking off heads left and right. The man is mean with a laser musket- always has been. Anyways, he gets grabbed by this Super Mutant and the damn thing just knocks him clean out the window. Now, he falls, at the very least, two stories down onto solid concrete- cracks his head and face clean open."

Nora winced at the story, and watched Sturges intensely as he paused to take a quick drink.

"Now, I ain't gonna lie, I didn't think he'd survive something like that- I've seen it one too many times to hold onto false hope," he continued. "So, the rest of us manage to make it down onto the bottom floor, and we're absolutely hauling it to get out. I couldn't let it go, I needed to make sure- so when we get out, half of us run over to where we think Preston hit. And let me tell you something, there was a mess of blood all over the place- I thought something had come along and eaten him. But sure enough, that stubborn fool was already on his feet and gunning down muties when he could see them. We re-grouped and managed to clear out of dodge and get to some place safe and far away before he finally blacked out. You should've seen the wound that left the scar- it was not pretty; I still got nightmares about it. We had to get old Mama Murphy to stitch it up with some makeshift materials."

Nora sat there in awe, her coffee cup hovering just inches from her lips.

If she had been any less careful, she would've spilled the still hot liquid clean into her lap.

"Her hands were kind of shaky back then so the wound didn't clean up as well as it should've- hence the scar," Sturges finished. "But hey, he pulled through without a lick of head damage- honestly it's surprising that the only side effect he has is that he doesn't remember what happened."

"Jesus flipping Christ," Nora whistled, as she settled her cup into her lap.

"Just wait until I tell you about the Behemoth story- he doesn't remember that one either."

"What Behemoth story?"

The two of them looked up in time to see Preston as he came around the front of the house and stepped into the garage with them.

"See?" Sturges spoke, tipping his coffee cup towards the man to emphasize that Preston had just proven his point. "Now that, my friend, is a wild story from start to finish- I can't believe you don't remember- actually no, I was there, I know damn well why you don't."

Preston shot the mechanic a puzzled look before he slowly turned to look at her. "Should I ask?"

"Sturges here says you got that scar on your face from busting your head on concrete," Nora answered.

He briefly touched at the scar at her words. "You're still stuck on this?" he questioned, before giving into a brief laugh, "I tried to tell you it wasn't from anything interesting, but you wouldn't listen."

"A mutie threw you out a two-story window and you still managed to get up and gun down every one of them in the streets," Sturges helpfully elaborated. "It took Mama Murphy two hours to get your face to stop bleeding- then again, that could've been from her shoddy stitchwork; or the fact that she had to remove some embedded pieces of glass too. You know, looking back on it now, maybe I should've just used the staple gun on you- would've been easier, and probably cleaner."

Preston seemed partially taken back by the comment now; fingers a little more curled against the scar. "That sounds... hard to believe, but I know you're not a liar Sturges. Although maybe you stretched the truth on that one by... quite a bit."

"I swear to it," he replied, "you can go ask Marcy- Lord knows that woman won't lie to you."

"Maybe so," Preston started, "still, I figured I would've remembered something like that."

Sturges laughed briefly and finished off his coffee. "Oh no, I assure you, you wouldn't have."

Nora smiled lightly at the lingering look of hesitation on Preston's face before he gave into a small shrug in defeat. She couldn't necessarily blame him for... being hesitant in believing something that didn't quite seem to piece together for him. "See? You didn't even have to be creative to be honest," she mused, "although I'm not sure if you could've topped a story like that."

"Like I said, the Behemoth story-"


End file.
